I'm the piece of paper you throw in the trash.
Crumple it up, say goodbye to the past.

I'm the canvas no one ever bought.
  Hidden behind, I never mind.

I'm the rock you try to skip.
Jump once, deep down I die.

I'm the spelling error on your spelling test.
Negative one, heat in my chest.

I'm merely a number
A dead heart with ripped strings.
A book with no cover.

A soul without color.

When he was four,
he tried to write a poem
and named it "Happy"
because he was happy.
He had a new toy
and new paints.

When he was nine,
he tried to write another
and named it "Confused"
because that's what he was.
He had questions about his body,
but couldn't find the answers.

When he was thirteen,
he wrote another
and named it "Scared"
because that's how he felt.
His body was changing
and he didn't like it.

When he was Fifteen,
he wrote a different poem
and named it "Knowledge"
because that's what he gained.
He knew what was wrong,
so he told them his new name.

When he was eighteen,
he wrote a new one
and named it "Ghost"
because that's what he was.
Nobody respected him,
his pronouns were never heard.

So when he turned twenty,
he wrote his final poem
and named it "Boy"
because that's what he always was.
He taped it to his door
and danced from his ceiling fan.

Put the feet back on the ground,
the earth has been found a home.
Leave the umbrella alone,
the rain has stopped and the reason is unknown.
Dry the eyes of their tears.
The fears were conquered tonight.
Now, soar through the sky in the light.
The things of secret are within the sights.

Let's talk about that dreaded subject that students hate and probably wish wasn't real. Let's talk about School.

I don't understand it.
We sit in a boring room for six or more hours and 'learn' about stuff that most of us won't use when we're finished. Then, to make it all worse; they decide to test us. A couple letters to define us. They split us off into A's and F's, like it's a label. Like it matters, but it doesn't. Oh, **** it doesn't.
I know what you're thinking; "Oh, you're just a teenager. You're just lazy and don't understand." Yeah, I may be a teenager, but I still have the ability to realize when my time is being wasted. I don't want my time to be wasted. I've spent more of my life in a crumby, stuffy school room than with my family.
The education system is flawed and I'm not the only one who sees it.
I want to direct you to a video on Youtube titled "Don't Stay In School." uploaded by a Youtuber by the name of BoyInABand.
Listen to it. Listen to the whole thing and then tell me if you think the education system is perfectly fine because news flash, it's not.
Now I'll direct you to another video; "I Will Not Let An Exam Result Decide My Fate" by Suli Breaks. Listen to it.

School isn't about learning anymore. It's about passing.
What about the kids who can't memorize formulas and specific dates? Should we just sit there and fail? No, because we're not learning. And, sure, teachers will tell you to get a tutor or go to them for extra help, but most of the time it never works. At least not for me.

I can't memorize for ****, so I suffer.
You don't need to go to school to get an education.
The way I see it? School is school. If you want to go to school then that's cool, but don't **** on the people who dropout of school.

You know that little, interesting yet surprisingly weird website called Tumblr and the founder; David Karp. He dropped out of high school and look where he is now.

Don't knock down the players just because they don't understand the game.

DRIP, DROP, DRIP, DROP
the rain smashes against the window,
it's beautiful.
BOOM,BOOM,BOOM*
light illuminates the dark sky,
it makes me think.
past,present,future.
flowing like a tidal wave and
it's knocking me down.
i'm falling under the water,
i can't see.
i take my final breath.
darkness.

He went to school unnoticed
and often lacked focus.
Not because he didn't care,
but because focus was quite rare.
His life filled with pills.
Trying to **** his ADHD,
but only killing his sanity.

People often said he lacked focus,
but how can you lack something that was never intact?

He often sat alone.
Known by none, liked by none.
He was shy,
never looked in the eye.
He was falling,
falling from the sky.
But, the sky wasn't.
It was more.
It was the constant fear he got when
others whispered loud enough to barely hear,
it was the 12% he got on a test because he was stressed.
It was life.
He lived like a knife;
always used for the simple things,
but was nothing for the hard.
You used him to butter the bread,
but his was still burnt.
Oh, what a shame.
He should've learnt.

People ask me why I write, but
there simply is no answer.

I write because it makes me feel like a dancer,
like a camper building a tent.

I write because when nothing makes sense
I can write a picket fence poem about
how it feels to be mimicked.

I write because when I feel a slight bit of worth
it makes me feel like the earth is in my hands
waiting for me to complete my life plan.

I write because when I can't see the sun
I can write the sun.

I write simply because words can give a spark,
even when you're feeling dark.

Look into the mirror,
see the young eyes.
So naive that you'll fall for her lies.
She'll tell you she 'loves you',
that you're her sun and her moon.
She'll pump her 'love' into your veins
and like a drug, you're not immune.
She'll act smug as your heart breaks
and tears at the seams.

Watch as you forget what love really means.

They look at me and all they see is a boy.
They don't  see how depression took my emotions and turned them
inside out.
They don't see the tears in my eyes when I see couples and remember that I can never have that because I can't feel love.
They don't see the way I struggle to shove the motivation to get up everyday out of my body like a tornado that's killing everything in it's path.
When I'm older and people see me they will not see a boy,
they will see a corpse.

I th016ink there's a g015litch in my co014de.
I'm tr013ying, but I st012ill feel alo011ne.
A010nd, my he009art?
It's bi008tter cold t007o the touc006h.
I wi005sh this l004ife w003as eno002ugh.
Li001fe is to d000ie.

On a dimly lit street is a house,
with broken windows shattered from expectation
and a roof not built to hold the weight of living.
The furniture is covered in dusted memories from the past
and the floorboards creak with the sound of every mistake.
The grass that once sat atop the dirt has ran away
and the pool is filled with an ocean of tears.
The laundry hamper is full, piling up with self doubt.
This is my resting place;
a little tattered,
a little sad,
but a little hopeful.

They say
that a house becomes a home
only after you've
lived in it
long enough to learn
it's weak spots.

I've lived in this
body
for years.
I've learned the flaws
weak spots
and abnormalities
yet it doesn't
feel like
home.

I spent a long time hating myself.
Thinking that my hands were saws
and to touch anyone would be to **** them.
I thought that my eyes were darts,
drops of poison on the ends.
I aimed my eyes at my feet so I wouldn't **** anyone.
Anyone,
but myself.
I thought that I was like the sun,
I'd burn you if you got close.
I wasn't handsome,
not like everyone else.
I was just me,
a burning pound of flesh.

Lately,
I've realized that I am not flesh.
I am not a poison dart
or a ****** weapon.
I'm a celestial man.
I have stars growing in between my ribs
and crystals pouring from my eyes,
my hands bleed glitter.

I'm not the nothing I once thought,
I'm the everything I never knew.

It's unfortunate really.
How someone can be so involved in your life one minute and the next, not even be there. How someone can go from a lover to a stranger in seconds and even though you know they aren't coming back you can't help, but wait for that phone call or text from them. You walk by that old place you used to hang out at and it all comes rushing back;
The smiles,
the laughter,
the fights,
the cries,
the heartbreak
and lastly, the pain.
It all comes rushing back and you sit there and take it because you know it's never going to end. It's always going to be there, sitting like background noise.
And that,
is the catastrophic feeling of missing you.

When I was younger,
I used to think we were all equal.
I guess I was wrong
because now I'm pretty sure this Earth is lethal.

**Don't **** me.
Please.

Speaking leads to seeking and
I'd rather wander than seek
because seeking gives you
expectations and wandering
leaves you with beautiful creations

I wonder,
how many kingdoms
have I blown to dust
to get where I am?

White picket fence,
house of suburban wishes.
Where you graced me with bittersweet kisses.

Static slumber,
electricity cut off.
When you put me in the sink.

Green blades,
two toned sky.
How you pinned me to the washing line.

Held on by my plastic pins,
you watched as I blew in the wind.
Falling to the mud.
You cleaned me, I got *****.
Why did you watch me fall?

Don't compliment me, just say you're here.

Dusk met Dawn.
and without one,
the other couldn't exist.
Their lives were like novella's,
short and sweet.

The day Dusk met Dawn,
the day that perpetual love fell.

I
am not made of stone,
even if
the way I exist says the opposite.

I
am not made of wax,
even if
the tears that fall disagrees.

I
am not made of paper,
even if
the scrunching of my soul yells otherwise.

I
am human,
even if
the chaos inside my head challenges that.

A little broken,
a little flawed.

We're the children of the world.
Our voices are toneless
and our bodies, boneless.
Our screams are soft
and, the crying is quiet.
Manners are known,
but often not used
because our views on the world
give us the blues.

They call us reckless, but don't they know?
There's more wreck than less.

I wanna live to see the day when sharpeners are only used for sharpening pencils again, when razors are only used for shaving again. But, for that to happen society would have to change and for society to change people would have to change, but people are people and they never change

Life is swirling, my mind is twirling and I'm done.
I'm done with the pain from my brain, a constant train.
Chug Chug. But, I want it to stop. I want to drop, skid to a stop and yell that this is hell. I dwell on the smell of the lies and denies, the cries and the sighs. The light in my eyes has started to die.
I'm just a boy learning to fly,
living in a world that money can buy.

Silence has always been a talent of mine. I’m not saying I can’t speak because I can, most of my embarrassing moments come from when I speak.  I’m only saying that if I couldn’t speak, if my vocal cords were ripped out and I had no ability to speak I’d be okay with it.  I know that’s a weird thing to say, but it’s true. If you had the chance to not speak ever again, would you?